


This Charming Man

by expectingtofly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Castiel and Dean Winchester First Meet, College | University Student Castiel (Supernatural), Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Meet-Cute, Roofer!Dean Winchester, The Impala (Supernatural), inspired by "This Charming Man" by The Smiths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25405939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/expectingtofly/pseuds/expectingtofly
Summary: Castiel is not having a good night. Hewason a bike ride, until some asshole nearly hit him with his car, sending Cas veering onto the shoulder. Now he has a flat tire and has to walk his bike back to his college dorm.And,it looks like it's about to rain.Then said asshole returns, apologizing and offering to give Cas a drive. Sure, he's attractive and Cas' own age, but he could also be a serial killer for all Cas knows. Either this night is looking up or it's gonna get a whole lot worse.inspired by the song, "This Charming Man" by The Smiths
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 136
Collections: #ficwip 5k





	This Charming Man

**Author's Note:**

> so so much thanks to [FeaRauko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeaRauko), who helped me IMMENSELY by beta-reading this fic and helping me cut it down to 5k (bc im wordy af)

_Shit._

Castiel stares down at his bicycle’s front wheel and the flat tire sagging from the metal rim. These fucking roads, with the sharp gravel and glass on the shoulder…

Pushing his hair back, he looks down the hill he just panted his way up, then down at his phone. 1:32 am. Two missed calls. A text from his aunt: _Just wanted to say I’m thinking about you…_

He shoves his phone back in his pocket. It’s a thirty minute trip back to his dorm—no, more than that because he’ll be walking his bike. _Of course this would happen, on this day of all days_ , he thinks bitterly. 

A car, black and sleek, had barreled past him on an otherwise desolate hillside and he’d swerved onto the gravel shoulder and grass, nearly losing his balance. His tire must have punctured then. The car had continued on its way without slowing, leaving a trail of loud, crashing music in its wake.

 _Shit_ , he thinks again and turns his bike around. He begins walking down the hill, the punctured tire tugging a little. He can hear his dad’s voice in his ear, “at least you got a walk out of it.” Always the optimist. But thinking of his dad reminds him of the missed calls from his mom. He’ll have to call her eventually. 

Trees along the road swish in a breeze which raises goosebumps on his arms. Moonlight sheens the road, illuminating his way, but dark clouds gathering in the sky threaten to soon make his night worse. He’s going to feel like an idiot if he gets caught out in the rain and returns to his dorm soaking wet, all the new residents on his floor wondering what the hell is wrong with their RA.

Today marks the end of the first week of classes in his senior year. The residents on his floor had been gearing up for a loud night, his door constantly rattling in its frame from the reverberations of slamming doors and eager freshmen running past his room. The missed calls from his mom had kept pulling his eyes from his laptop screen, and the breeze coming through his window was uncharacteristically cool for late August, so he’d given up on homework and decided to go for a bike ride.

Castiel swears as his bike pedal scrapes his ankle. A handrail sprouts out of the ground on his left side and rises to waist level. He looks over it to a gulley half-filled with yesterday’s rain. If that car had caught him here, it might have hit and killed him. Dying today would’ve been strangely ironic—but that’s a horrible thought.

The distant thump of bass catches his ear and Castiel glances behind him at the long stretch of road. A familiar black muscle car is approaching, now on the other side of the road. _Great._ Now the asshole who nearly killed him can jeer at him.

The obnoxious music grows louder—Castiel can’t catch any of the lyrics, only drums and guitars—then the menacing car passes him in a rush. It doesn’t get too far, though, before red brake lights flash bright in the dark and the music lowers. Growing nervous, Castiel ducks his head and keeps walking to pass the now stopped car. 

“This hill get too steep for you?” Glancing up, he sees the driver rest his elbow on the window sill and lean out to look at him. 

Castiel reddens. He keeps walking past the car.

“No, seriously, do you need a ride?” Castiel hears the car inch forward, wheels gritting on the gravel. Just his luck to get murdered on the side of the road. The ditch to the left of him would make an _excellent_ final resting place for his body. “Are you the guy I passed on that curve? Sorry, I didn’t see you. Did you get a flat?”

“I’m fine.” Castiel’s bike trembles a little, bouncing over loose gravel. Thunder rumbles low in the distance. _Fuck fuck fuck_ , Castiel thinks, looking up at the sky where clouds are already dampening the ring of light around the moon.

“Listen, ‘least I can do is give you a ride.”

Castiel looks back at the driver. He looks young, probably around his own age. Attractive. Not that that matters. Still, Castiel hesitates and slows his bike to a stop.

“It’s no problem, really,” the potential serial killer insists. “Where’re you headed?”

“Stanford University.”

“Shit, yeah, that’s where I’m headed.”

Castiel bites his lip, running his thumb along his handlebars. What are the chances this guy is a Ted Bundy? He glances at the sky. And what are the chances he’ll get back to campus before it starts to rain? 

“Alright.” If this isn’t the stupidest thing he’s ever done… He wheels his bike across the road and the driver tucks his arm back into the car and pulls over to the shoulder. 

The music cuts off abruptly as the car turns off, and the driver gets out and walks back to the trunk. He unlocks it, saying, “I’m Dean.”

“Castiel.” 

Dean’s black jeans and black t-shirt—which seem fitting against the black car—might have made him appear menacing if he wasn’t so damn attractive. Castiel swallows and grips his handlebars tighter.

“Sorry again,” Dean says. “I shouldn’t have been going so fast. You didn’t crash did you?” His eyes flick over Castiel as if checking for visible injuries. 

Castiel feels suddenly awkward in his shorts and ragged t-shirt from a campus event freshman year. “No.”

“Guess I got lucky.” Dean ducks into the trunk and pulls out a blanket. “You can fit the bike in the back seat, I’ll throw this down to protect the seats.”

“Thanks for stopping,” Castiel says, trying not to stare at Dean’s ass as he leans into the car to drape the blanket over the back seats. 

“No problem.” Dean helps him fit his bike inside, then motions for Castiel to get in on the passenger side. Castiel does so, sliding onto the leather bench seats. Very clean interior. Jury’s still out on whether this means Dean is a methodical killer or just a clean person. 

Dean turns the car on and music fills the air once again. Feeling his phone vibrate, Castiel pulls it out and rejects the call. That makes three missed calls. He sends his mom a text: _I’m busy, call you later._ He suspects this callous reply might be worse than not answering, but at least it will reassure her he isn’t dead in a ditch somewhere. Yet.

“So,” Dean says, pulling back onto the road. “Stanford. You must be pretty smart.”

Not knowing if that’s a rhetorical question, Castiel only nods noncommittally and picks at the skin around his thumbnail. 

“That’s where my brother goes. Sam Winchester.” Dean’s eyes flick to his in the rearview mirror and Castiel shakes his head, the name not registering. “Not surprising. Kid tends to prefer books over people, doesn’t party or anything.” Castiel doesn’t say there’d be even less chance of him meeting Sam at a party. “What’s your major?”

In all his worry about being murdered, he’d forgotten about _this_ threat: small talk. “English.” He waits for the familiar response.

“Oh. You gonna write a book or something?”

There it is.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” he answers honestly because Dean is a stranger and he’ll never see him again and he’s tired of always bullshitting some answer. “It’s only my major because English was my favorite class in high school.” His mom would hate his disinterested tone. She’s always telling him that this part of his life is so exciting, so many opportunities, paths to take. Too many paths, in his opinion.

“Well, you’ve got time to figure it out, right? What are you, a sophomore, junior?”

“Senior.”

“Oh, well, damn, you better make up your mind soon.” Dean grins at him and Castiel can’t help a small smile.

“Are you in college?” Castiel asks.

Dean shakes his head. “Nah, I hated high school. I couldn’t imagine going for another four years.”

“Oh.” Castiel wants to ask how old Dean is, but he’s worried he’ll seem too interested in someone who’s way out of his league. He looks back down at his hands, tugs his shorts further down his thighs. A cool breeze through the cracked open window makes him shiver. Outside, lightning flashes through the trees bordering the road. 

Dean drives with one hand, tapping the windowsill in beat with the music. This song Castiel recognizes from that band AB… ACDB? Some letters of the alphabet strung together. He chances a glance at Dean before looking back at the road curving before them. Why had Dean been driving up and down the road in the middle of the night?

“Castiel...” 

Castiel startles and realizes Dean is looking at him. 

“That’s an interesting name. Don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.” 

Castiel reddens a little. “I’d be surprised if you had. I’m pretty sure my dad made it up.”

“Hey, that’s cool. It suits you.” 

Castiel frowns a little, not sure how to take that. 

Dean shakes his head, smiling. “That was a compliment. Or supposed to be one.”

“Thanks then, I guess.” He looks down at his sneakers and a business card in the center console catches his eye. _Winchester and Sons Roofing Company._ Unable to hide his curiosity, and wanting to end the awkward silence, he asks, “You’re a roofer?”

Dean seems almost startled until he follows Castiel’s gaze to the business card. His features relax. “Yeah. I work for my dad.” 

An image flashes through his mind of Dean working up on a roof, shirtless. He quickly dismisses it. “Sounds like it’d be hard work.”

Dean shrugs. “Not if you’re used to it. I’ve been doing it since middle school.”

The car eases to a stop at a stop sign and Dean reaches over Castiel to the glove box. Castiel shrinks back a little as Dean’s arm brushes his knee. 

“You don’t mind, do you?” Dean asks, pulling out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He rolls down his window.

Castiel shakes his head, a little annoyed. So, this charming stranger has a flaw. 

Dean lights a cigarette and inhales. “I’ll worry about my lungs later, right?” he jokes with a grin.

Castiel realized he’s wearing his judgmental face. “Right.” Sure, worry later. It isn’t like you only have one body, one life to risk. Of course, Castiel jumped in a car with a stranger, so who is he to judge?

They’re driving through town now. Even if Castiel didn’t live here he would’ve guessed they were on the edge of campus by the number of bars and young people on the sidewalks. Someone yells, “cool car!” and Dean grins, lifting his hand in acknowledgement.

“Nice to see people around here have good taste,” he says. 

“This _is_ a very nice car,” Castiel comments, looking at the leather detailing. It’s impressive how smooth and quiet the car runs considering how old it must be. 

Dean grins and taps his cigarette ash out the window. “She’s a great car. Never had any problems with her. Do all the work on her myself.” 

So. Handsome, strong—he’s assuming since Dean is a roofer— _and_ good with his hands. _Stop being ridiculous_ , he tells himself. 

“You live on campus?” Dean asks. 

“I’m an RA.” Maybe he should tell Dean to drop him off in front of one of the academic buildings. He doesn’t need a serial killer knowing where he lives.

“You like it?”

“Helps pay for housing.” 

A group of young students Castiel recognizes as his residents run across the street ahead of them. It’s going to be a long night. He’ll count it a successful one if no one on his floor gets alcohol poisoning.

“Ya know,” Dean says, flicking his cigarette out the window. Castiel resists a comment about littering. “One of my friends, Lee, is having a party at his place right now. I was thinking about going… you wanna go?”

“Oh, no, that’s alright.”

“No, really, you should come. Lee goes to Stanford, you might see some people you know.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Dean speeds up to get through a yellow light. He looks at Castiel and in the lights coming through the windows, Castiel realizes Dean’s eyes are green. 

“Look at what I’m wearing.” _Fuck._ What type of excuse is that?

Dean laughs. “Trust me, you’re the type of person who doesn’t have to care about what you’re wearing.”

Castiel looks at him, tilting his head a little. Is this another one of Dean’s backwards compliments?

“I just mean… when you’re attractive, no one gives a shit about what clothes you’ve got on. You have nice eyes. Girls love that. Guys too, if you’re into that.” 

Castiel reddens. Dean glances at him, and Castiel crosses his arms over his stomach. “I guess so,” he says, not sure what he’s admitting to.

Dean grins. “So, you wanna go?”

A party. Drinking, more small talk, people he doesn’t know or care to know. Dean will be there, though. And Dean really is quite attractive. When’s the last time someone like Dean took an interest in him? No, scratch that. The answer is depressing.

His bicycle rattles in the backseat. If worse comes to worse, he can just grab his bike and walk away. He’ll find his way back to his dorm, shower, knock on a few doors, tell the freshmen inside to keep it down, and go to sleep. He pictures himself lying there, in his single dorm, in the dark, his phone lighting up with texts and missed calls, and suddenly going to this party doesn’t seem so awful. 

“Alright. Fine. Just for a bit.” He's already regretting the words as they come out. 

“Great!” Dean turns down a side street. “I tried convincing Sammy to come.” Castiel struggles for a moment to remember who that is, his mind settling on the name Sam. Dean’s brother. “He had an excuse, of course. Here it is.”

Castiel looks out his window as they slow to a stop in front of a white house—or what would’ve been white without all the grime. It’s lit up from the inside, muffled music coming through the open windows. 

“How many people are at this party?” Castiel asks. 

Dean shrugs and cuts the engine. “Don’t know.” 

_Great._ Why did he agree to this? First accepting rides from a stranger, now going to a party with said stranger—what’s gotten into him? 

Grabbing a leather jacket from the backseat, Dean opens his car door. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Hi! Dean!” A young man with a flop of blonde hair half covering his eyes opens the door. He steps aside, tripping a little over his own feet, and catches himself on the door handle.

“Hey, Alfie." Dean steps inside. "Where’s Lee?”

“In the basement, I think.” The drunk boy transfers the cup he’s holding to his other hand and extends his hand to Castiel. “I’m Alfie.”

Castiel shakes his hand. “Castiel.”

Alfie steps closer. “You have really pretty eyes.”

“Alright, let’s go find Lee.” Dean puts his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and steers him across the room to a narrow door. He pulls it open, gesturing for Castiel to go down first. It’s dark downstairs with flashes of light like someone is testing out the light switch. And loud. So here’s the source of the music. Steeling himself, Castiel starts down the stairs.

The basement is gross: ratty, stained carpet; plaster walls covered with movie posters; and people lounging around or participating in various styles of dancing with a general theme of inebriation. 

“Over there.” Dean taps Castiel’s shoulder and points to three guys sitting on a faded brown couch. 

One of the young men looks up as they walk over. “Dean!” he calls. “Settle this debate for us: _Tokyo Drift_ or _Fast and Furious 7_.” 

“That’s not even a contest,” Dean says. Castiel looks around the room. He hopes none of his residents are here, or any of the other RA’s. They’re always trying to drag him to parties. He doesn’t know what they’d say if he actually surfaced at one.

“This is Cas,” he hears Dean say, speaking above the music. Castiel looks back at Dean and the brown-haired man he’s talking to—Lee, he’s guessing. “I almost killed him tonight.”

Lee’s eyebrows shoot up. “Shit, Dean, what’d you do?”

“He didn’t almost kill me, I’m fine,” Castiel cuts in.

“No, no,” Dean protests. “It was more dramatic than that.”

“He almost ran you over,” Lee guesses, looking at Castiel’s attire, and Castiel remembers he’s still dressed for a bike ride.

He nods and crosses his arms over his t-shirt. Which one is he wearing? It better not be the “Party Responsibly” one he got at one of those “Say No to Drugs” campus events.

“That would’ve been his fourth hit and run this week,” Lee comments and Castiel looks at Dean, alarmed. 

“He’s joking,” Dean says. 

“You guys want a drink?” Lee pushes himself up from the couch. 

“No, thanks,” Castiel starts, but Lee’s already headed to a table in the corner. Dean sits on the couch and introduces the two other party-goers to Castiel. Castiel nods at them and sits next to Dean. He ignores the vibrating phone in his pocket again, knowing his mom is going to get worried soon—if she isn’t already—and knowing he still does not want to talk about _it._ Every year the same obligatory conversation, the same “do you remember?” and “I wish he could see…” 

Lee returns and hands Castiel a sweating, red cup. Castiel stares at the mirky, brown substance inside.

“I thought you weren’t going to show,” he hears Lee say to Dean. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I was just going for a drive.” 

They start talking about movies again and Castiel contemplates getting black-out drunk. It’s really warm in the basement, the music is giving him a headache, the couch reeks like weed, and Castiel is officially angry with past-Castiel for agreeing to come here. The feeling rising in him is very similar to the one that compelled him to jump on his bike at one in the night and ride off without a plan.

“Where’s the bathroom?” he interrupts. 

Dean and Lee look at him. “Upstairs, next to the kitchen,” Lee answers.

“Thanks.” Castiel sets his cup on the ground and walks away. _Get my bike, go back to my dorm_ , the plan repeats in his mind. Up the stairs, through the living room, ducking his head before Alfie sees him, out the front door. He steps off the front stoop, looks at Dean’s car, and swears.

 _God,_ he’s an idiot. Dean has the keys to his car. He’s stuck here. _Fuck._

Sitting down on the stoop, he stares at Dean’s car. His phone vibrates with a new text and he turns it off. Hanging his head, he stares at the cracked pavement where stalks of grass poke out at odd angles along the walkway. 

“Cas?” At the sound of the nickname, Castiel looks over his shoulder to see Dean standing behind him, one foot inside the house, his hand on the screen door. “You alright?”

Castiel turns back around to face the street. “Sorry, I just had to get some air. I’m kind of claustrophobic.” A routine excuse for getting out of social situations.

“Shit, you should’ve told me.” The screen door snaps shut and Dean sits next to him on the stoop.

Castiel slides over to make room for him. “It’s fine.” 

Inside, someone laughs, loud and sharp. Swearing follows a crash.

Dean shifts and his boot grits against the sidewalk. “This party is shit, isn’t it?”

“All parties are shit.” 

Dean laughs. Digging into his jacket pocket, he pulls out his lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

“You really shouldn’t smoke,” Castiel says as he lights one.

Dean exhales a cloud of smoke. “You’re not my RA.” 

Castiel shrugs. “Fine. Get lung cancer then.”

Dean snorts. Then he throws the cigarette onto the ground and grinds it into the concrete with his heel. “There. I quit.”

“Just like that.”

“Yeah, just like that.”

Castiel shakes his head. He isn’t in the mood for joking. Two girls and a guy cross the grass to the house and Dean slides over for them to get to the door. His jacket presses into Castiel’s arm.

“Anna!” Alfie’s voice comes from inside before the screen door snaps shut.

Dean stays sitting where he is, his leather jacket smooth against Castiel’s arm and smelling faintly of cigarette smoke. “You wanna get something to eat?” He stands without waiting for a response. 

Castiel frowns at the sidewalk. If he goes back to his dorm, he’ll really have no excuse for not answering his mom’s calls. 

He sighs. “Sure.”

* * *

“Have you ever called the cops on any of your residents?”

Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t want them to hate me.”

He grabs another slice of pizza from the open box in between him and Dean on the hood of the car. Wind rustles the trees bordering the parking lot where they sit. Lightning flashes in the thick clouds crowding out the stars above them. 

“Any of them ever die on your watch?” Dean grabs a napkin before it flies away. 

“What? No! Of course not.”

“Ever hook up with any of them?”

Castiel stares at Dean. “They’re freshman,” he says. “Like right out of high school.”

“Eighteen, though, right?” Castiel frowns. Dean shakes his head. “I’m joking, Cas.”

“Oh.”

Dean takes a drink from a beer bottle he’d taken from the party. “Maybe I should’ve gone to college,” he says. “It’d probably beat roofing.”

“I thought you liked roofing.”

“I said I’m used to it. There’s a difference.” 

“Oh.” Finishing off his slice, Castiel grabs a napkin and glances at Dean. 

Dean crosses his arms. “It’s the family business, it was kinda expected that I go into it.”

“Your brother’s in college.”

Dean laughs. “Yeah and you should’ve seen how that went down with my dad.”

“Oh,” Castiel says again, unsure how to reply to that. He throws his napkin into the empty pizza box and closes it before a gust of wind can carry it away. Goosebumps rise on his arms and he rubs them away.

“You cold?” 

“No. Well, yeah. It’s fine.”

“Here, take this.” Dean starts to pull off his jacket.

“No, really, I’m good.” Dean holds it out to him. “Now you’ll be cold.”

“You’re the one in shorts, I’ll be fine. Take it.” 

Begrudgingly, Castiel takes the jacket and slips it on. The sleeves extend past his wrists. “Nice jacket,” he says.

“It’s my dad’s. Used to be, I mean.”

That makes Castiel’s stomach turn. He thinks of his phone lying on the seat in Dean’s car, of all the missed calls from his mom. 

“Why were you out riding at night?” Dean asks, like he read Castiel’s thoughts.

Castiel racks his brain, trying to come up with a convincing lie. He settles on a diversion instead. “Why were _you_ driving around tonight?”

Dean glances at him. “I just wanted some space to think.” 

Castiel shrugs. “Same.” 

“Think about what?” Dean asks.

“You first.” Castiel shifts and the hood of the car creaks.

Dean laughs a little. “I don’t know. Sometimes I just like to drive.” He taps his fingers on the hood of the car. “And Sam called tonight, asking for help paying for college. He and my dad got in a big fight, so I thought I’d get out of the house for a bit.” He looks at Castiel. “Now your turn.”

“I don’t really feel like—”

“Come on, I told you.”

“I don’t owe you anything. You’re the reason I got a flat and was stranded on the side of the road.”

“I’m also the guy who gave you a ride and bought this pizza, so…” 

Castiel shakes his head. Then, regretting being so harsh, he starts, “Sorry—”

“No, no, it’s alright, Guess you were out riding your bike to avoid talking, right?”

Castiel nods and Dean gives him a smile before grabbing the pizza box and walking away to a lone trashcan by the curb. Castiel rubs the cuff of Dean’s jacket between his fingers. A raindrop lands on his leg.

Coming back, Dean sits down on the hood of the car, closer to Castiel than before.

Castiel stares at his sneakers. “My dad died four years ago,” he says. “On this day. Cancer.”

“Oh,” Dean says. Castiel waits for the “I’m sorry” followed by awkward silence. “Well now I feel like an asshole for dragging you to that shit party.”

Relieved, Castiel laughs and looks up at Dean. “Actually, I’d rather be there than sitting in my dorm, talking on the phone to my mom about him.”

“You don’t want to talk about your dad?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just—” He frowns. “Every year it’s the same thing. Me and my mom miss him all the time, of course, but it’s like there’s an added pressure today to get really sad and cry and remember all the stuff he did, like building me a swing set and driving me and my friends to prom, and taking me to a hockey game.” He exhales. “I like remembering those things, I do, but…”

Dean nods. “It’s rough. Like reliving all the reasons he shouldn’t be dead.”

“Right.” He looks at Dean. “That sounded a little too much like experience.”

“Yeah, I mean, my mom’s gone. Died when I was four, so I don’t remember much about her. But it still sucks every year on that one day.” He crosses his arms. “Other times too.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I should be the one apologizing. I’m the one who wrecked your bike on,” he waves his hand, “today. So… sorry.”

“Thank you. I’ll forgive you because you didn’t wreck my bike, only scared the shit out of me barreling down the road.”

Dean laughs. Castiel feels a raindrop land on his nose and wipes it off with the back of his hand. 

Dean looks up at the sky. “This is some shitty date, isn’t it?”

“Date?”

“Yeah.” Dean grins at him. “You didn’t realize that’s what was happening?”

“Hmm.” Castiel narrows his eyes. “You’re right, this is a shitty date.”

Dean shakes his head, smiling. “Any chance we could go on another one?”

“Sure,” Castiel says, feigning nonchalance despite the flutter in his stomach.

“ _Sure?_ You don’t seem very excited.”

“Well, considering the fact that earlier you almost killed me and I thought you might be a serial killer—”

“Alright, alright.” Dean raises his hands. “We’ll give it another go and hopefully I can change your first impression of me. I’m not an asshole, I swear.”

Castiel smiles and looks down at his clothes. “Hopefully I’ll be dressed more appropriately for the circumstances.”

“What’s your hang-up with clothes?”

“I just feel like an idiot when you look like that.” He reddens as he realizes what he’s saying.

“Look like what now?” Dean seems to be fighting back a smile.

“Umm… well…” In the orange of the street lights, Dean’s eyes look more honey colored. They trail down to Castiel’s mouth and Castiel’s heart beats faster. In lieu of a response, he leans closer and kisses Dean.

That’s when the sky decides to open up. Cold rain runs down Castiel’s face and he and Dean break apart. 

“Fuck,” Dean yells over the pouring rain. They scramble to his car and Castiel fumbles for the door handle. Collapsing into the bench seat, he slams the car door shut. Pouring rain smears the windows as thunder rumbles, and the roof of Dean’s car rattles in the deluge.

Dean wipes water from his arms and fumbles with the heat controls. “Fuck, it’s cold.” 

“Do you want your jacket back?” 

“No, keep it, you look good in it.” 

Castiel bites back a smile. He and Dean stare out the windshield at the rain.

“So…” Dean says. “Where were we?” 

Castiel ducks his head, unable to stop a smile, then slides closer as Dean meets him in the middle. They kiss again, this time without interruptions, blanketed by the pounding of rain and whirr of warm air through the vents.

* * *

“Thanks for driving me back,” Castiel says, holding onto his bicycle.

Dean swings his keys around his finger. “Yeah, of course.” 

The rain has stopped and he and Dean stand outside the residence hall where Castiel lives. He makes sure his phone is in his pocket; he’ll call his mom first thing in the morning. He still feels a little dizzy. Of all the ways he saw this night going, making out with a stranger in his car had not been one of them.

“Um, well,” Dean starts. “I had a good time tonight. And it, uh, it started out a pretty shitty night.” 

“Same here,” Castiel says. 

Dean smiles, then steps forward to kiss Castiel again. “I’ll call you,” he says, stepping away. “We’ll do this again.”

“Hopefully not all of this again.” Castiel gestures to his flat tire.

Dean laughs. “Yeah, right. ‘Night, Cas.”

“Goodnight.” Castiel watches Dean drive away before steering his bike to the residence hall’s doors. Digging into his pocket for his ID to get into his building, he realizes he’s still wearing Dean’s jacket and swears aloud. He turns around, scanning the road, but Dean is long gone. Then his phone buzzes. Pulling it out, he sees a text from Dean: 

_You can give me back my jacket on our second date._

Amused, Castiel shakes his head at Dean’s way of ensuring they see each other again.

 _No, not such a shitty night after all,_ he thinks, turning back to the dorm building. He smiles. Already, he can’t wait to see Dean again.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 
> 
> drop me a comment if you feel so inclined :)
> 
> you can check out my tumblr [here](https://expectingtofly.tumblr.com/)


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